Labels│simon minter / ashley marie surcombe

VIII. "low key mates"

ashley is so perfect i love her so much omg

oh that's really awkward I've been putting the wrong roman numerals for the chapters but it's ok I changed it lmao

and im going back to the days simon used to wear that one tag necklace before he changed to a cross yay

+Simon+

I open my eyes and shift in the bed, realizing that this definitely wasn't my room. A searing headache was beating against my skull, making me groan. I sit up and look around the room, and stifle a gasp when I see Ashley sleeping on the bed beside me.

"What the fuck?" I whisper-scream and cautiously get out of bed to walk into the bathroom. My eyes expand as I inspect the purplish marks on my neck, and the not quite clean lipstick traces on my face.

Did we- oh my god.

I nervously look over at the purple haired nerd snoozing away, shifting in her sleep. I accidentally knock over the jar of cotton pads when I whip around to look in the mirror again, causing it to shatter loudly as it comes in contact with the floor.

"Shit," I hiss and reach down to pick up the glass pieces scattered on the ground. In the room, I hear Ashley groan and stir in her sleep. She ends up awake and sits up, reaching for her black rimmed glasses sitting on the drawer beside her.

"Simon?" she whispers and looks over at the bathroom as she places her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

"Um, hi," I say awkwardly and slowly stand up.

"What are you doing?" she inquires, pulling the covers off and curiously walks towards me.

"I, uh, sort of broke your glass jar." As she approaches me, I back off a little.

"I'm not going to cut you with this," she says and laughs, bending down and sweeping the pieces into her palm.

"Did we...?" I begin and she rolls her eyes.

"As if," she scoffs and drops the glass into the trash bin. I exhale and hold my chest, leaning onto the counter.

"Why am I here?" I ask and she raises an eyebrow.

"You don't remember?" I shake my head with confusion.

"Is there something I should remember?" She laughs and covers her mouth.

"You were drunk and came to my house last night to hide from your dad and your brother," she explains, stifling her laughter. I reach up and press my fingers against my temple.

"That explains the constant headache," I mumble in realization. "I'm hungover."

"Do you remember anything about last night?" She questions and walks over to the bed to fix it up.

"Why, did we kiss or something?" Her face goes red.

"No, of course not," she says with embarrassment and moves so her back was facing me.

"Well, I suppose I do remember bits and pieces."

"Which ones?" she asks and pauses  to listen to my response.

"Looking at a picture of you and a blonde girl... drinking a shit ton of water... a super cold hand against my face that felt really nice at the time... oh, and hot cocoa."

"Hm," she simply hums and continues folding the bed sheets.

"Did something else happen that I don't remember but I should?" I ask wearily.